


Devil’s pupil gonna teach you to sight

by sybilius



Series: Talking won't save you [1]
Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
Genre: A reasonable amount of consent I would say, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Eyes is the best fucking cowboy, Blow Jobs, But meanwhile Angel Eyes just wants to fuck, Consent, Cowboy Lube, Cowboys, Death Threats, First time sorta, Guns, I just wanted this to exist, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Smoking, Taunting, Very Very Trash, Western, and Blondie is jealous of his super competent ass, assholes being assholes, hatefucking, honestly the fact that it's a first time is incidental, so that's what they do, this is a true PWP, very little character study here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: They said those eyes could tear out any kind of emotion from a man. Or a woman, for that matter, but mostly Angel Eyes’ stare dealt in fear, anger, helplessness. Desperation.Blondie could never really claim to hating anyone, but staring across the fire from that smug sonofabitch, he felt a low, sick anger rise up from his half-empty stomach. He’d never wanted to kill someone quite as much as that damn pair of eyes, watching him curiously from under the brim of that black hat.





	Devil’s pupil gonna teach you to sight

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses and no apologies for this.

They said those eyes could tear out any kind of emotion from a man. Or a woman, for that matter, but mostly Angel Eyes’ stare dealt in fear, anger, helplessness. Desperation.

Blondie could never really claim to hating anyone, but staring across the fire from that smug sonofabitch, he feels a low, sick anger rise up from his half-empty stomach. He’s never wanted to kill someone quite as much as _that damn pair of eyes_ , watching him curiously from under the brim of that black hat.

It's probably just what Angel Eyes wants.

Blondie breaks off from his stare for a moment, regarding the dusky evening settling over the nearby river. The camp is a meager one, a fire and a cuppa with some tack, but he’s had worse. They trekked several miles today, in what Blondie suspects was a more direct route than the goose chase Tuco would have led him down.

Another point towards Angel Eyes being true to his word. Not that he ever wasn’t—Blondie can tell by the glint of his pupil when he was leading you to slaughter, and when he has to realize that two hundred thousand dollars was more likely to get you killed for half than keep you rich for the rest of your days.

Angel Eyes is good, good at what he does. All of it. And it's usually pretty easy to tell what he's after, if he wants you dead, you're dead, if he thinks he can learn something from you, he’ll get it. There's no bullshit, not if you watch his eyes. But when Blondie turns back to the firelight, Angel Eyes has slipped off his hat and has a different glint in his gaze. One that Blondie can’t quite put a name to.

“You done with that quirley?” there’s a laziness to that glimmer, and a similar curiosity too. Blondie takes a moment to register the half-abandoned tobacco clutched between his fingers.

Out of habit, Blondie reaches across the fire to offer him the smoking roll, and to his shock, Angel Eyes takes it.

“It’s not too bad. You ever considered switching to pipe?” Angel Eyes slips the quirley back in Blondie’s fingers, shrugging off his jacket to find his pipe.

“Can’t leave a pipe in a dying man’s lips.”

“That’s why. It’s harder to track, too.”

“Sometimes I wanna be found,” Blondie raises an eyebrow, almost feeling like Angel Eyes is trying to give him advice. It’s not bad advice, either. Yeah, Angel Eyes is damn good. The best. But Blondie isn’t jealous. He isn't sure he wants what it costs to be that good.

“You think twice too much, Blondie.”

Blondie just nods to that, knowing damn well that the sonofabitch is right. And he's got the sun scars to prove it. If he'd have been better, like the smirking devil sucking on his pipe....

Sure as hell feels a little like jealousy now, though. Trussed up in this pistol-to-the-back partnership like he’s been played real good. But if he bides his time, maybe, maybe he can sharp-shoot loose. After all, he fancies his survival with Tuco just a slight bit better, even if the idiot is a backstabbing sonofabitch.

The both of them smoke in silence for a while, until the sun has truly set, but a light still hangs over their camp. In the firelight Blondie watches his hands, settled on his thighs a safe distance from the pistol. He knows Angel Eyes needs him, of course, but he can’t help but be wary. Angel Eyes licks his lips as he finishes his smoke, then fixes him with a stare that reflects in the coals of the fire.

“Cm’ere a minute,” the way Angel Eyes says it isn’t an order, but it isn’t exactly a request, neither. He beckons with dust-coated hands, the glimmer in his eyes now closer to a spark. Blondie can’t quite place what he’s after, but isn’t sure whether to refuse, either. The sick anger in his stomach has shifted to something that tugs from his chest down to his groin.

“Here.”

He moves closer on the ground, until they’re almost shoulder to shoulder by the fire.

“What?” he mumbles, fighting to keep his gaze even under Angel Eyes’ hungry stare. He can see the desert dirt in his speckled brown eyes.

“Nothin’. Just looking,” his eyes are searing now, searching. Blondie casts his eyes downward for a moment, and then there’s a hand at his collar, yanking him close, oh here we fucking go _—_

Licked-dry lips against his, hard and insistent, Blondie is so shocked he forgets to punch, forgets to reach for his revolver because kissing the most dangerous mercenary this side of the West isn’t something you recover from quickly. His lips part instinctively, and the taste of coffee and pipe tobacco burns on his tongue, dragging him, teasing him closer.

“What the hell?” Blondie mumbles, and the coaxing lips tear away from him. He offers no explanation, just stares, raising an eyebrow while still close enough for his breath to gust over Blondie’s throat. Blondie feels his blood boil, a moment before grabbing a fistful of Angel Eyes’ collar and slamming their lips together again.

Blondie doesn't kiss, doesn't fuck much neither, the soft franticness of it too sickly sweet for his tastes. But this tastes like the desert's last drop of water, spittle and teeth like a dead man offering money with his last breath, cool and insistent as a bullet through the spine. Large hands down his back and the smell of leather and dirt register dimly among the avalanche of sensation. The rasp of mustache and stubble is certainly...different to put it mildly. Angel Eyes' tongue rakes over the roof of his mouth, only lazily fighting the attack of Blondie's chapped lips sucking like he might take the secret of the gold right out from him.

It's a moment or a minute of desperate scrabbling later that Blondie remembers himself, remembers why he should have one hand on his revolver nowhere closeby to this man, this _man_ of all people.

He might taste blood on his lips when he pulls away. It tastes good, like the banal opposite of redemption.

Angel Eyes seems calm, if flushed in the glow of the firelight. He purses his lips together like he’s tasting the residual tobacco, or perhaps the taste of Blondie himself, wearing the face of one who smells blood in the water, maybe it's his blood that Blondie is tasting. Oh God above.

“What the hell," Blondie repeats, though more to himself this time than anything.

"Yeah, alright," Angel Eyes says, and it's then Blondie registers that Angel Eyes' hand is still resting covetously along his lower back. Blondie gets his breath back before speaking again.

"What the hell do you want?" he glares back at Angel Eyes, who smiles as if the answer should be obvious.

"I want to fuck."

It's barefaced and it's been that way, slowly building with the wane of the fire, for hours now, Blondie realizes. Angel Eyes is unbuttoning his black shirt, as if the matter is already decided.

"What in God’s name gives you the right?”

He stops unbuttoning, fixes him with that fiery stare again, “Didn't say it wasn't up to you too, partner. This isn’t part of the deal, just something to pass the night.”

“Do I look like a painted lady to you?” Blondie spits, half wanting to pin him to the dirt, half wanting to shoot him in the head. It occurs to him fleetingly whether this is some kind of bizarre test, some mind game to prove himself or get him to spill the secret of the grave.

From the pickup of his heartbeat, though, he can tell there's no such bullshit here.

“Neither of us are ladies and that's just fine by me.”

“ What are you - -”

“You've done yourself before, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever had someone else touch you? Doesn't have to be a dame.”

Blondie can feel the swallow all the way down his throat, and God help him, there's want in it.

“No.”

“ So that's a start.”

There’s just the hint of condescension in his voice, as if this were yet another crime in the list of many that Blondie was not capable of. Angel Eyes lowers his gaze to Blondie’s groin, and Blondie grabs his half-open shirt and kisses him raw in the firelight again, just so that he can bite the smirk off those lips. And he’s still smirking, goddamnit, when Blondie pulls away.

"Now you tell me. Do you want it?”

If he'd had time to think about it, he'd have already thought twice, found a way out of wanting the worst of it. But he's hard now, the thrum of what he would have called hatred now thick in his veins. It might be desire, lust, and there's poison still in it but the kind you want more of.

"Take off your pistol."

"If you want that, you can take it off," he spreads his hands, and then his legs just slightly, the outline of his erection pressed up against his pants.

Blondie swallows against dry lips, fingers tracing over the leather and metal. He's surprised they don't shake, but he's glad of it, too. No weakness. He can feel the brush of hair along the back of his fingers from the criminal's hips. Feeling bolder still, he rakes his nails up the bare front of the other man’s chest, tugging at the hair and pinching at his erect nipple. 

“Lick it.”

“Why don't _you_?”

Angel Eyes shoves him down without warning then, making neat, quick work of his shirt buttons to pinch his nails sharply over the left nipple and then swipe at it with his hot tongue, bite gently with his bright teeth. It feels like a flame all over his body, the flat muscle carved along his body drawing closer as he bites into the collarbones that taste like leather. He lets his hands crawl down the newly bare spine as their shirts hit the ground, full on grabbing the muscle of his ass and digging his fingers in hard.

“Ah, ah,” the gasp of pleasure quickly ends in a smirk, “Knew you had it in you, Blondie.”

That sonofabitch.

"You next." Angel Eyes doesn't phrase it like a question, just reaches for his belt and lets his fingers brush through the fabric over the rock hard cock beneath. He tosses the revolver next to his among the mess of their shirts.

Before those deft fingers can tear open his pants, Blondie shoves him back, kneeling on his thighs and working the fabric down to his knees, reaching into his boxers to grip his cock firmly, twisting it just harder than is necessary.

“Easy, easy--” Angel Eyes arches, hissing slightly.

“You want this to be easy?”

“Guess not.”

That last thought ends with a gasp, as Blondie swipes the wetness at the tip with his thumb, starting to work up a harsh rhythm with his hand.

"Didn't know you had that one in you,” god he's patronizing even as his face contorts with pleasure and pain.

There's a lot of things Angel Eyes doesn't know about him. A lot of things Blondie didn’t know about himself, like how damn good it feels to squeeze that raw, wanton glow out of the criminal’s unforgiving eyes, feel him shake and shiver underneath him. It’s intoxicating to the point where he forgets this could be dangerous, that this could be just another trick. He's getting what he wants, that much is clear. But he seems to decide that’s _enough_ for now and shoves Blondie back to the ground, working his pants open until he can grip at his rock-hard cock, staring at it with that same hungry curiosity.

“ _Lick_ ,” Blondie says mockingly, but Angel Eyes just laughs before wrapping his lips overtop of the tip and _all hell_ Blondie did _not_ expect that to feel that good, tearing the breath right out of him and a scream with it.

“Careful what you wish for.”

Blondie can’t even think of a rude retort when that devil’s mouth is _engulfing_ him, the tickle of sensation at the balls before he pulls off and works him with dry hands and wet lips. God, it’s a wonder he doesn’t come from the sight alone, that mercenary throat-deep and teasing his murder-fingers along his balls. He’s close when Angel Eyes pulls off, licking his lips with satisfaction. He shrugs his pants off then, and roots in his jacket for a small bottle.

“What d’you need that for?”

“Gon’ do something one better. Want you to fuck me.”

“What, like the devil tells?”

“Yeah,” whatever he has in that bottle is some kind of oil, slightly pungent as he rubs it on his fingers. His bare ass glows in the firelight, tinged with pale, dusty hairs,  “You thinking too much again?”

Blondie hesitates, thinking of the prossie’s, few as they may be, that he’s had. Is it dangerous? It’s tempting, though. From what he’s heard, “You do this a lot?”

“Do as I like, when I like,” Angel Eyes has the oil all over his fingers and hands, flexing experimentally, “ but I don't find a lot of partners worth a damn. But you're not the first, if that's what you're asking.”

“Right, alright then,” he catches the bottle deftly when Angel Eyes throws it to him.

"I'm guessing I'm the first so lemme show you how it's done," Angel Eyes' smirk is infuriating, but the irritation quickly gives way to fire when he spreads his legs, presenting his ass and working his fingers into it. It’s a damn _sight_ by the firelight, the hair flaring round his asshole shifting and opening up for his strong fingers.

Blondie is pretty sure the last time his mouth was this dry he was twenty miles into the desert and that was nowhere near this good.

“That enough for you to figure it out?”

“Yeah,” god, he’s a bastard. Blondie runs a finger down his spine with the oil, then probes experimentally at the puckered hole with his index finger. Angel Eyes almost snorts, and Blondie shoves his finger in just to get him to shut up, which goes in easy without producing much of a reaction. It’s hot, wet and strange inside, harder than the inside of a woman but not too dissimilar. He can feel the muscle of the entrance pulsing around his knuckle

"Two fingers first,” Angel Eyes grunts, and he obliges, “Yeah, now _reach._ You'll know when you're in the right place, cause I'll---”

His breath cuts off to a strangled noise as Blondie brushes over something softer, strange and deep inside of him. He nods, breathless as Blondie jabs it again

"You ever been fucked with a gun before, Blondie? Cause when it hits that spot, it's like the moment right before you know you've been shot--shi--" his voice breaks off to something like a yelp as Blondie jams his finger harder towards the throbbing mass of tissue. In the firelight he can see the precum leak onto the hot rocks with a sizzle.

“Ah-ah-alright, that's enough,” Angel Eyes practically screams, breath ragged, “Now with your cock.”

Blondie pulls his hand out slowly, which is shaking now, along with the rest of him. As he positions himself he notices the pile of weapons, almost barely within arms’ reach.

Could I kill a man while I fuck him? The question seems spinningly abstract, but still present even as he manages to sheath himself inside of the mercenary. Death is always on the edge of his thoughts, of course, who to kill, who might kill him.

This very well might kill him. They breathe together for a moment, then Angel Eyes slaps his flank and he starts to _move_. It’s not hard to find the right angle again, or perhaps Angel Eyes knows how to contort himself, to arch and bend like the lick of flame so that he’s screaming out with every flick of Blondie’s hips. He reaches beneath to grab the man’s cock, like it might have been the gun he’d held to his head, and Angel Eyes, the most dangerous man in the West, goes limp beneath him, crying out and shooting into the dirt.

“Don’t move.” Angel Eyes is folded beneath him, back to Blondie’s chest and their faces inches from each other. He nods.

Angel Eyes gets his bearings back fast, barely breaking pace and Blondie is so damn _close_ , but it wasn’t quite enough to tilt him over the edge, too focused on the high of having his enemy cry out and grind towards him to focus on the hot, tight muscle around his cock, and even that’s not quite---

He stops moving.

There’s a gun to his head now, damnit, a gun and he doesn’t know quite _how_ Angel Eyes had done it or why, but he can feel the heat building as if to meet the cold metal, and Angel Eyes damn well _knows it too_.

“You were thinking it, weren't you. But you wouldn't do it. S'why you're gonna end up dead someday,” Angel Eyes _smiles_ , and Blondie can feel it next to his face, right next to the cold metal before another thrust _rolls_ over him and he’s screaming and collapsing onto a man he wishes were dead, even now.

Blondie feels like he might be dead when he regains consciousness a half a moment later, Angel Eyes already up and checking there’s no damage to his guns. He tosses Blondie his revolver, smirk back in place. Blondie looks for a moment too long, then checks to make sure the bullets are still intact. That seems to please Angel Eyes.

“Not bad, Blondie,” he says conversationally, “You might yet die a rich man, at least. But it’s still not gonna save you.”

Blondie hopes none of it saves that sonofabitch either. And he hopes the six bullets, cool in his hand that he loads back into his gun, are the ones that turn those tempting eyes black at last.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't judge me for this, or rather do. And maybe leave a comment if you liked it. This is obscure AF so I'm expecting maybe like, 5 views?


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